


The Demon and the Samurai: Book 1

by ablindromance



Series: The Demon and The Samurai [1]
Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3410543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ablindromance/pseuds/ablindromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A child is born with a burden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hallowed Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something lost, something gained.

The chants of the Yamabushi monks surrounded the small house in a deep, low hum. Men dressed in white robes with shaved heads and necks laden with blessed beads sat in a circle around the property, their hands folded into various forms to summon the higher powers. Tirelessly seated outside on the ground for the last two days, they protected the house.

Hundreds of sutras clung to the outside and inside of the tiny dwelling, and one man helplessly beheld them all. Grief-stricken eyes scanned over them more times than he could count before settling back on the woman, his wife, writhing in agony on the futon. A fit of demonic screeches and growls left her snarling mouth and unnerved him.

"Honorable master, is there anything that can be done? Can't she be helped?" he pleaded.

He was a strong man with strong hands and a strong will. He was the progenitor of this household, and he laid every stone and every piece of wood with his own skill and his own two hands. A hard-working, loving husband since the moment he took this woman as his own, he now stood powerless against the force that had stolen her. That force was now after his child.

"You must be patient," the monk sighed. "This is a very strong possession. The demon inside of her is terribly powerful." He raised a hand and placed another sutra on the woman's pregnant belly. She roared in pain-induced rage. The horrid sound was neither animal nor human and filled with darkness.

Her bound hands pulled at the hook on the wall that restrained her. Her beautiful hair was in wild knots of disarray. Even her young, loving face was twisted into something barely human.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to question. It’s just…” He wrung his hands before pushing his own hair back in frustration. “My baby… _our_ baby. My wife… I can’t lose them both. Please, not both of them.” 

“My son, you must have faith.” A hand came to rest on the man’s shoulder in sympathy. “But… as it stands, you must make a difficult decision.”

“What…?” The steadfast husband seemed to age well past his thirty-two years when he heard that, his tired eyes switching between the monk and his wife. Bearing the weight of such a grave decision threatened to break him. “I can’t do that.”

“You have to. This demon, Amon, is too strong. He has a hold on her that will surely kill one of them. But which one lies solely in your hands. You haven’t much time. The exorcism must be completed by morning or they both will die.”

Those sinewy hands briefly covered his face as if trying to hold his entire being together. The roars of his wife and the fresh flowering bloodstain on the futon made his skin crawl. Wanting to look the demon in the eye, he moved away from the monk and knelt for a countless time at his wife’s bedside. Pinned by the monk’s mystic spiritual energy, the entity stopped flailing its limbs to stare back at him. 

He acknowledged the woman, or what was left of her, first. 

“My love… I’m so sorry. Our family…” he trailed off, eyes shutting tight to hold back tears. His head dropped in shame. “I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t fix this. But I’ll protect our baby. I’ll protect him with my life, I swear it.” 

A hand raised, cupped the woman’s cheek. For a fleeting moment, he saw her again, saw the love and humanity in her eyes. They gazed back at him in forgiveness.

Then Amon laughed.

The demon snapped his teeth at the stalwart hands.

“ _Your child is mine. I’ll consume him like I consumed your wife._ ” He laughed again. 

“You bastard. You and everything sprung from you will be destroyed. The whole of you will be destroyed!”

Rising despite Amon’s incessant laughter, he turned to the monk in a mixture of anger and bitter-sweetness.

“Master, it’s a boy. Please save my son.”

“Yes, my son.” 

The monk nodded and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder once more to comfort him. Turning his full attention to the flailing woman, he drove his staff onto the wooden floor three times and the metal rings hanging from it clanged loudly. The chants of the monks outside amplified into a deafening drone. The man took his spot against a wall to witness the head monk’s work. Amon’s screams pierced the falling night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By morning, he’d completed the grim work of digging his wife’s grave. Refusing all offered help with the task, his sturdy arms bound her body in white linen and carried her away to be burned on the pyre that he built up from mere flickering embers. He washed his hands after, scrubbing away dirt as if it were the reality of the choice he had to make. As he stood near the flames, the monk came to him. In his arms, he held a small, sleeping bundle.

“He is well. He is alive. It’s too soon to tell if he has been affected by the possession, but… it would do you well to bring him to us when he is older. For now, he needs his father.”

The monk gently offered the child to him, a precious and vulnerable gift, indeed. For once, those strong arms felt nervous and weak but remained steady as they carefully cradled the infant. He looked down upon the tiny hands and fingers, the little nose, the small, pink lips, and tuft of dark hair on his head. He looked so much like his mother, and with time, the father hoped that he would grow to resemble him. With a heavy heart, he held the baby, forehead to forehead, and felt a salty wetness pour from his eyes.

“Thank you, master.”

“Please, my son. No thanks necessary. He is a strong, blessed child, but I feel that he will have a great responsibility to bear in life. Give him a strong name in that he will not falter in shouldering that responsibility. Bring him to us again.” 

The monk paused to wet his thumb with purified water from a satchel at his side and dashed it across the baby’s brow. The little creature stirred but was too cried-out to wake. He then went silent to pray over the burning pyre.

“I’ll name him well.” He bowed his head as deeply as he could with the baby still tucked in his hands. The monk took his leave, tapping his staff over the blessed ground surrounding the man’s house. All the white-clad men joined him in two perfectly straight, orderly lines. 

“You’ll live a good life, son. I promise it. You will fear nothing in this world. And when you are old enough, I’ll tell you of this day.”


	2. A Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A son makes a promise.

“There is demonic power in him -- and inhuman strength. The latter was caused by the former, I am certain. There is no doubt that it is the result of your wife’s possession. It’s Amon’s residual power.”

The monk removed his woven straw hat and glanced out at the gangly teenager squatting by a brilliant pink camellia bush. He carefully plucked one of the flowers and turned it in his hands before tearing off one petal at a time and scattering them in a path. He looked harmless enough, all skin and bones and height for a thirteen-year-old. If anything, he was average in temperament and usually a content, charming boy with good manners. 

“What does it mean? Is he a demon? …Will it affect him negatively? Will he live normally?”, the father asked, his voice strained for answers. The thought of his gentle child being robbed of his humanity was not something he could stomach so easily. He would have even stalled this very visit if he had not already promised the monk that he would bring his son to him. Concern for his well-being grew not because of failing health or outbursts, but because of the father's paranoia about losing the only other being to carry his name and bloodline; his son was his treasure and his reason for living. But it was not for those reasons alone that he came to these mountains. The boy told him of disturbances in his sleep-- a hellish voice spoke to him and the vision of a handsome, terrible entity that he did not know beckoned him. His final decision to return to the Yamabushi was made when he noticed the boy performing easily-- and alone-- feats of strength that were two-men tasks. 

“No, my son. He is as human as you and me. As human as you raised him to be. But his power needs to be channeled or he will be damned to become what created him. He could be consumed by the darkness in his soul. With that great strength, he could help many or harm every living thing he sees fit. It all depends on the life path he chooses.”

The monk let that hang heavily in the air.

“What did the seers say?” The father watched his son wander boredly along the temple grounds, obediently not straying far as he was directed. He truly was a good boy, albeit confused as to why he was even here this far up the mountains.

“He… will avenge your wife, but…”

“’But?’ The pause got his attention and a worried brow turned to the monk. “’But’ what?”

The sight of the monk standing just inside the welcoming mouth of the temple entrance did not comfort him as it should have. Not even the great spiritual energy of the sacred mountain peaks brought him peace.

“His life won’t be easy. He will need to train here to be set on the righteous course. With that spiritual power, he can make a difference in banishing the evil from this mortal plane that it may not take another soul as it took his mother. Should he refuse guidance and be consumed by that which he cannot control," the monk continued solemnly, "then may all the gods of this world spare us." 

The father went silent in heavy contemplation. For a long time he did not speak.

“So he will not be like me, after all. He will never know love, or family, or a peaceful life.” The ache on his son's behalf saturated his words.

“It is no small sacrifice, but it is one for the greater good. He can save so many,” the monk quietly reassured. It was a small but genuine gesture.

“I will give him what was taken from me. I’ll give him choice. Give me some time with him, then I will give him to you to foster the strength I could not," he agreed. But he spoke with apprehension. Pained eyes lifted in warning to the holy figure. "If he chooses to walk your way, then he will. If he chooses to live quietly as no one’s hero, do not harass him. These are the only terms I can accept.”

The monk nodded solemnly at the father's hard expression. Such conditions were only fair, after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seven months passed. Finally, one crisp fall evening, the father sat and confessed everything of the fateful day his son was born.

“So… she died because of me?” the boy said, the words bitter on his tongue and heavy with guilt. That guilt weighed down his body and felt as if it was snatching all the oxygen out of the room he and his father now shared. The low table before them used to be innocent, but the boy now felt a coldness from it as he realized that it was where his mother once ate and fed him in the womb. No longer wanting to touch it, he pulled his hands away from it and folded them in his lap as he looked at the floor.

“No, son. She died because despite her strength, Amon..." he spat, hating to even speak the entity's name. It tasted bitter and hateful on his tongue. "...overtook her. She would have never wanted to give you up just to save herself.” The father spoke gently and with honesty, hoping to soothe the pain of his son's question like a healing salve.

“Is it dead? The demon?”

“The monk and his sect destroyed him, yes.”

The father noticed that his son would not meet his eyes. A hardness in the young one's voice snatched away his youth and made him a man much too soon.

“So… what does that make me? Am I a demon?”

He looked down at his hands. Once they looked like the normal, spindly fingers of a teenager just trying to find his identity in the world. But now, they seemed unreal to him; inhuman and like they didn't belong in the world of men at all.

“No, not at all. You’re as human as I am, son. Don’t be confused about that.”

The boy’s face thinned into a mix of feelings. He was bitter at the loss of his mother in exchange for his own life. He was angry. He was calm. He was unsure of himself. He was sick.

“I waited until you were old enough. You’re a man now, so you should know," he continued, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself. "You have a strength in you that is beyond human. I can’t teach you to harness it, but the monks can. You can be something great, a sav—“

“I don’t want to be a savior. I want to be normal,” he interrupted sharply. 

“I know, son. But to ensure that you are protected, I want you to train your body and your power. Be your best so that you may fearlessly walk your own path. What you do with that power is your choice. I will not force you to be anyone’s hero. You've always been and always will be just my son whom I love very much.”

As he listened, his hands squeezed into fists on his knees. He felt out of touch with them. They shook and he saw, but he could not truly feel the movement at all. Even his chest felt like a hollow box filled with bees.

“I’ll avenge my mother by becoming strong,” he said after a long time. “I’ll be unstoppable. I’ll be strong for you, too. You saved me.” He rose to his feet, head rising to his father’s nose. His shoulders squared.

The father, softened by his son’s determination, suddenly pulled him into an embrace. He kissed the boy’s head and held him, as if giving him all the strength and courage he had in his aged body.

“You don’t have to be anyone’s hero, son. Just be strong and live right. Don’t lose sight of yourself.”

“I won’t, father.” Long arms circled the taller man’s body, not as muscular but still sturdy. An emptiness sat in his heart, but he vowed to find his way. In this moment, however, he allowed himself to feel lost and small, and he cried quietly against his father's chest.


	3. A Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things should never be forgotten.

The next few months were full of quiet conversation and gardening. 

They planted spider lilies and red camellias about his mother’s grave. The boy finally learned the meaning of each flower ( _hanakotoba_ , to be exact) from his father. The lilies represented the fact that they would never meet the gentle, loving woman on this mortal plane again. Gone was her body, but her spirit, the boy believed, was taken up by God and into paradise. In a fit of anger that could only be directed at the flowers themselves, he descended upon the grave in the approach of twilight one evening and ripped them from the ground. After a long day of inner guilt gnawing at his heart, he could no longer stand the silent mockery of the flowers and what they stood for. At his insistence, he and his father planted red camellias instead and paired them with a small patch of pink peonies which he tirelessly cared for as they bloomed. The message at his mother’s grave was more acceptable now: to perish with grace and bravery. Though he did not have the chance to truly know her, the boy felt this was more fitting than a reminder of what he lost. 

They tilled the land to plant vegetables and small fruit trees around their property, and the father taught his son how to live off the land. With attention to the smaller details, he learned what was poisonous and what was not, what was ripe, what was rotten, what to pick and when, and what could be used for medicinal purposes.

He taught him how to build a house from the ground up and how to select the best, most sturdy wood for the job. The cedar didn’t smell as wonderful as the cypress, but it was just as strong and beautiful when cut and shaved. It made excellent support for a house’s structure and easily withstood the extreme changed in climate. In teaching about the value of wood and how to respect it, the father taught him the same about life. A true man was a moral one and stuck to his values, thus earning back the respect he gave to others. Certainly all people were not so upstanding, but like the cedar, one would have to be patient, strong, and weather the nastiness of others.

On the other side of the coin, he taught the boy to win the hearts of girls, too. 

“Love is a powerful force that starts and ends wars, but the thrill of it was always in the process of falling into it,” he remembered his father saying.  
Just past his prime, the man was still able-bodied; strong in the jaw and broad in the shoulders, tall and skilled in labor. A provider. He could have taken another wife, but his devotion to the one he lost was simply too great. His heart would not let her go. 

It was those traits that the boy inherited. He, too, was tall and broad-shouldered, his jaw started to cut sharply in his adolescence, his hands were big and his fingers were long. His skin warmed to a laborer’s tan in the hotter months and paled in winter. Among what made him physically handsome, he also inherited from his mother features that made him beautiful. He smiled with bright, uncommonly straight teeth that stretched his face so far that his eyes disappeared behind it. Truly, it was contagious. When he did not smile, it was his deep, almond-shaped eyes that spoke for him. The father noted how expressive they were and found that the color was like his mother’s. The boy’s had a reddish-brown luminescence to them like Japanese cherry wood when the sun hit them just right. Some of the local village girls fell hard for that, not to the father’s surprise. And his dark hair which grew fast and thick like weeds in an untended garden dusted his shoulders just as fast as it was cut. Even though he was still growing into himself, Daisuke promised to be a fine, dashing young man with natural charm. 

That was his name: Daisuke.

As his father had explained to him as they relaxed beneath a tree to escape the noon day sun, it meant “great helper.” From the moment he held the boy in his arms, he knew that his child would bear a name that was masculine but gentle as per the wishes of his mother. With this name, he hoped that Daisuke would be a just, kind, and diligent man like him. In the short time they had together, he made every effort to mold the boy into a person that gave to the world instead of only taking from it.

When the day came for his son to go to the mountains, he vowed to come to the boy every few months, as long as his body would hold out, and witness his growth into a man much stronger than himself. The journey was far but it was necessary, and he felt that the time Daisuke could be even that far away from him would be short. The Yamabushi would eventually take him further north to the Dewa Sanzan in the province of Dewa and it was simply too hard and long a journey for one man his age to make. The promise to visit his son was fortified by the way he looked into the boy's eyes when he spoke. Daisuke believed it.

”I love you, son,” he said. The father firmly squeezed the boy’s shoulders to imprint that into his skin. With a straightened back and a nod, he let the words sink into him. Though he did not speak, he said all he wanted to say with his eyes. He and his father developed a wordless language in their time together.

Daisuke turned his back to his father and followed in the shadow of the monk and his rattling staff.


	4. Liberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy becomes a man.

“I’m going to get my revenge.”

“Son, revenge is a poison that kills the perpetrator and the victim.”

“I don’t care. All I ever wanted to be was normal. He took everything from me. He stole my parents and my life. And because of that, even though _he_ is gone, I will find his seeds and kill them, too. It’s justice.” He spoke with so much conviction that he didn't leave room to be dissuaded.

The head monk sighed, understanding but shaking his head. His hands diligently lit another red incense settled at the base of a golden effigy of Senju Kannon.

“The destiny you choose is bleak and full of violence. I fear for you, son,” he said gently.

“I fear nothing in this world. But why do you sigh? Have I not used the demonic power inside of me to banish the evils from this world? Have I not completed my training and become strong? Am I not walking down the righteous path as you taught me? It’s time to make my own way. I don’t want to be a monk or a hero. I just want to _be_.”

The young man's furrowed brows relaxed and he went to kneel before his now seated master. Out of respect, he bowed his head. The stone floor beneath his palms almost felt smooth now, whether it be worn down by the numerous times he came to pray here in the temple or from his training which made his hands rough. Contrasting the callouses on his flesh, his voice was measured and soft.

“Please, give me your blessing so that I might succeed in this and lighten the burden in my heart.”

The monk placed a hand on his student’s head. He was no longer a boy, but a man, capable, astute, and as steadfast as his father. He was a genuine and passionate soul driven by his integrity and sense of duty. This man, though not his son, had become like one under his tutelage. Though he was all these things, the monk was reluctant to let him leave the mountain. He learned quickly and possessed natural talent. He was born with the strength that took a normal man half his life to cultivate. All things considered, Daisuke's ability went unquestioned, but he was still young. What he had in spiritual power, he laked in experience of the world.

“I swore to your father that when the time came, you would have a choice," he said as he looked down at the dark hair shifting beneath his palm. "Do you really think you're ready to walk that path? It is definitely a long, arduous one that you must walk alone. We cannot go with you on your journey for peace. I fear that not only we, but your father, will lose a great man if you falter on the course." "I'm not afraid," Daisuke repeated, eyes still on the stone ground. "I am ready. Even if I learned everything --every precaution to take-- my life is mine to give, isn't it? I'll feel caged here and haunted by my unfinished business if I stay." He paused to reflect on his words before he spoke again. In his learnings, careless actions and words, no matter what they were, were intolerable. "With all due respect, master. Please, I just want to defend my father's name and honor my mother's sacrifice. It's all I can do as a son for everything my parents have lost. Even you, who has become like a father to me in the absence of my own... I'd defend you, too." The monk let quiet settle between them. His wisened face that had been gently folded by time let sympathy and understanding slip between the valleys around his eyes. He knew well that this boy was smart if not head-strong. The sincerity in which he spoke was so thick that it could be cut. "I won’t hold you here, but I hope that you will not let the values you learned be forgotten. Don’t lose your way, and don’t let the anger in your heart consume you. You have my blessing.”

“Thank you, master. Thank you for everything you’ve taught me. I won’t shame the Yamabushi monks or my father’s name.” He prostrated himself and lowered his head to the stone ground. A cool burst of relief filled his chest and put out the fires of anxiety he had about asking to be released from the mountain. Becoming a monk was an affair that demanded the dedication of one's entire life, and to turn his back on the institution that shaped him, accepted him for who he was, showed him righteousness... It was a great ethical offense. And yet he, wanting to be free, summoned the audacity to ask for his liberation. 

“I want you to stay for one more year to refine your skill. Afterward... you are free," he continued slowly. "You should go and see your father. He’s no longer a young man and the journey to these mountains is hard on even on those who still have their youth.”

“Yes, master. Thank you! Thank you, master!” He bowed his head again before jumping to his feet and suddenly embracing the aged wise man with all his strength. It was an uncommon gesture. This way of life called for self-control and self-restraint in all things at all times. Not once could the teacher say that he'd ever hugged a student, much less had one hug him with such abandon. He could hardly be troubled by such a thing. The act itself simply proved how human and how sensitive the boy still was. Those traits were something that both he and the boy's father hoped he would never lose. Clung to, the monk tamed a chuckle into a small smile and managed to place a hand of support on the young man's back. The latter was a spritely thing and squeezed his teacher for just a moment longer before he tore himself away to hurry down the stone steps of the shrine. Before he was out of view, he turned and waved to the monk, smiling. The monk raised his hand in return.


	5. Pleasures of the Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has he lost his way?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He violently hacked at the already desecrated corpse of the demon he slayed. In a blind fury, he swung his sword and sent sprays of rough flesh and blood into the air. Only when exhaustion scraped its piercing claws all the way down to hi bones and reaped his remaining energy did he stop. The scene was a gory nightmare.

He spat blood at the chunks of flesh before he collapsed against a tree in the darkness and dizzily heaved for air. He knew what happened. It always happened like this. He became so angry, so drunk, so focused on his task that he didn't realize it was not duty but hate that fueled him. Surely the woman and child he’d saved would have stared at him in horror had they been present now, unable to tell just who the real monster was. His hand was slick with blood and still clung to the hilt of his blade. Three months had passed since the death of his father. Four years had passed since he left the monks and denounced his membership of their sect, choosing instead to call himself a masterless samurai and slayer of demons. His frustration started to get the better of him and his anger began to frequently obscure his path. Sometimes he wondered if it was a mistake to leave the mountain on this quest. Some days he felt as if he lost all control of himself and questioned his purpose. It appeared to him that either course he took, be it staying on the mountain or following his own head and heart, was a long and lonely one. Obligation didn’t allow him time to regret and his dark eyes burned with fiery determination.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_”Master Daisuke? …Master Daisuke!_ ”

Shaken from his reverie, the handsome samurai raised his brows and turned to his hostess. She lightly slapped him on the chest.

“Master Daisuke, are you so distracted already? Your mind should be on me!” In a playful, childish pout, she held the ceramic bottle of liquor hostage at her chest and refused to pour him another drink. Quite a beauty, she was. Well-endowed and possessing a small, doll-like mouth and milky white skin, she was more than deserving of is attention. He chuckled and humbly lowered his head.

“Ah, I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re certainly more beautiful than any of the thoughts floating around in my head. Forgive me?” he grinned. His charm was effortless and the hostess swooned. Tisking him lightly, she filled his dish and placed the bottle aside.

“I forgive you. You fought so hard today. I know risking your life for something so serious must make you weary…,” she said, her head resting lightly on his shoulder while a delicate hand smoothed over his chest. “And you’ll be leaving so soon, too. I wish you’d stay longer so my village could show you more gratitude.”

He chuckled lightly over his dish before tossing it back easily.

“I’d really like to stay and rest, but I have many miles to travel. They say idle hands are tools of the devil, you know?”

“Mm, I know,” she agreed with a whisper in his ear. “Then busy your hands with me. I want to show you my gratitude for what you have done for us before you go. You deserve some pleasure for all the pain…”

She turned his face to hers by his chin, immediately breathing in the wild scent of sake on his breath. Baring a lean, white thigh from her beautiful robes, she reached it over his lap and it settled there. Cupping his strong jaw, she brought her lips to his in a haze of passion and met no resistance. 

Daisuke dropped his empty sake dish and took her in his arms. Knowing well the suppleness of the female body, his hand trailed up her thigh and cupped her buttocks to hold her closer.

Pleasures of the flesh tonight would quiet the moral war in his mind.


End file.
